Bored
by Fat Puppy
Summary: Supernatural Season 14 - Dean gets bored and irritates his brother.


**Bored**

_**SUMMARY: Supernatural Season 14 - Dean gets bored and irritates his brother.**_

* * *

Footsteps. Boots. Closer.

Moving annoyingly closer.

"Go away, Dean."

Footsteps stopped. Inches away.

"How'd you know it's me?"

"Because I've lived with you almost my entire life. I know your boots, your pace, your pattern."

"Creepy."

"Not to mention you and I are the only ones in the entire bunker."

"Eh, I'll give you that one."

"And you're bored."

"M'not bored."

Sam pulled in a deep exasperated breath. The type he saved specifically for his brother. The breath pushed out as he opened his eyes, looking up from where he sat cross-legged on his own bed. The peace and silence of the new hobby of meditation now shattered into a thousand pieces. His eyes flickered to meet those of his pestering big brother.

"You are bored, Dean. Things are quiet. The world isn't ending, at least not in the next month, and you have nothing to hunt, kill or pummel. You're bored."

Dean acknowledged his little brother with a sideways tilt of the head then grabbed the nearby chair, pulling it bedside. "Okay, so imma little bored. Whatcha doin'?"

Giving Dean the look, Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm doing, Dean."

"Right. That boring ass meditation crap."

"It's neither boring nor crap."

"Yeah, it's both. Tell me, Sammy, of all the things in the world you could pick to do with your free time, why sitting on your ass in a dark room humming Buddhist chants?"

"I'm not humming. And it's not…never mind. I meditate in quiet. In my own room, I might add. With the door shut. Remember our unspoken agreement? Door shut, stay the hell out? Privacy, man."

"Dude, we have no Privacy, ever. We've lived on top of each other for well, since forever. We have a damned I-hear-everything angel for a best friend. We have some weirdo guardian angel reaper thing babysitting us, apparently at all times. We have the damned Horseman…wait…Horsewoman? No, that's not right…whatever the hell. We have freakin' Death with her ears all over us, knowing what we're doin', where we're doin'…and you whine about privacy."

Another deep breath. Years of dealing with his brother, Sam would have thought himself an expert in calming himself by way of deep breathing. But well...Dean was Dean.

"Door closed, Dean."

"Whatever. So, why the meditation?"

"Just tryin' it out for stress relief. We have a lot of stress, Dean. In fact, I'm havin' stress right now."

Dean smiled at the jab meant for him, though he took it as an almost compliment. "Yup, I see that. Maybe you should try harder."

"Maybe I should lock your ass out of my room."

"No locks on the bedroom doors. We agreed. Too dangerous. Just in case some freak of the supernatural gets into the bunker and uses that to their advantage."

Breathe. In and out. Slowly. In. Out. Focus on the breath. Not on the irritating brother sitting nearby. Within inches. Within arm range. Sam briefly considered reaching out to strangle his brother into silence, but Dean caught the thought and moved backward, just out of that strangling reach.

"Sorry, Sammy. I enjoy breathing."

"And I enjoy meditating. Is there something you need, Dean?"

"Nope."

"Okay. Then why are you in my room?"

"You told me, I was bored. Boredom brings me here. To visit my little brother. The little brother who never ever seems to get bored. How do you do that, Sam?"

"I have hobbies that I enjoy outside of hunting."

"Reading. Subtitled movies about French mimes. Filing. Organizing. Labeling. Organizing your labels. Labeling your files. Highlighting – in about four different colors. Green veggie-puke smoothies. And I'm sure there's some other dreary and uninteresting crap I've left out. And now you've added sitting on your ass and breathing."

Dean popped out of his chair to muss Sam's hair, on his way to sitting the edge of the bed.

"Your life is just so exciting! Let's do somethin'. Go somewhere. Vacation. Oh, hey, you can meditate in Vegas."

Another look. "I cannot meditate in Vegas. It's Vegas. We don't get much downtime, why do we need to go anywhere?"

"Because, Sammy. Me and you. On the road. Sometimes I miss those days."

"Moldy motel rooms. Greasy fast food."

"Exactly! And you can meditate in the car. Boom!"

"While you blast 800 miles of Metallica?"

"Yes! Perfect!" Dean bounced briefly on the bed, excited. That stupid, infectious smile now planted on his face. "Come on, Sammy! Before the job picks up again. Before the world needs saving again."

Sam exhaled another breath, but it was less annoyed this time. When his brother got like this with that idiotic grin and that child-like look in his eyes…he was hard to resist, even for the one that knew him best."

And Dean saw the change too. He was bringing Sam over to the Dean Side.

"You know you want to, Sam. Don't fight it."

Trying hard to not smile and failing miserably, Sam surrendered. But, being who he was, he did have a few rules.

"Fine. Okay. We'll go somewhere. But no fluid-stained motels, no fast food and no Vegas. And you've gotta give me thirty minutes a day to do...this."

"To sit and breath? Deal. Let's get packed and roll," Dean said as he bounded off the bed and tripped over the chair. "Damn it. Come on, Sammy."

"Dean, it's 10:30 at night."

"I know. Perfect time to hit the road. No traffic."

"Dean."

"Sam."

"Dean."

"Sam."

"Dean!"

"Here," Dean grabbed Sam's duffel from the other side of the room and tossed it at him. "I'll even help ya pack."

"Don't need help packing."

"You did when you were a kid. Remember?"

"I didn't need help packing, you just didn't like that I packed meticulously."

"Meticulously: code for, slow as molasses. Dude, seriously, who folds underwear when they pack a bag? Took ya an hour to pack three changes of clothes."

"It was fifteen minutes. Still fourteen and a half minutes longer than you though, right? You, who just crammed everything into the bag, no matter the smell or stain.

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "It's served me well, Sammy. Okay, I'll give you an entire thirty minutes to pack as long as we can leave now." He started bouncing again, on his toes this time.

"Now? What happened to thirty minutes?"

"You know what I mean, stop being so damned literal. Takin' all the fun outta this vacation before we even get out the door."

Just to be irritating, Sam took the entire thirty minutes to get ready. He found Dean in the Impala, impatiently tapping the steering wheel.

"Dude, really?"

"You said thirty. I took thirty."

"Why the hell I hang out with you, I've no idea."

"Not much choice. No one else will take the job."

"True." Car started. Backed out of the garage. Waiting at the intersection. "Left or right, Sammy?"

"Where we goin'?"

"Not a clue. Left or right?"

"Left."

"Right it is." The Impala squealed to life and took off.

"I said left, Dean."

"Yup, and knowing you, left is boring."

"What's right?"

"Half the country. Where to?"

"You're drivin'." Sam cemented.

The Impala jerked right again at the next intersection. Interstate 35 ahead. South.

"What day is it, Sam?"

"Friday. But only for another hour."

Dean pulled the car over and scrolled through his phone a moment. "Perfect" he mumbled to himself. Then they were off again.

"You gonna let me in on it?" Sam asked, knowing Dean had made a split-second decision about their destination.

"Texas. Specifically, Dallas. There's a home Cowboys game Sunday. We're goin'. Get online and find us some non-crappy tickets."

Sam laughed out a breath. No annoyance. No irritation. He looked over and smiled at his brother. This move was so very Dean. No doubt he wouldn't get the meditation time he wanted and it was probably guaranteed that he'd be dragging his dead-weighted drunk brother into the hotel room after a post-game con job of the resident locals in several rounds of pool in a variety of bars. And that was okay.

It did feel like the days before the bunker and before Cas and Jack and Mom...and he never uttered one angry or aggravated word. He simply heaved an inebriated Dean onto the bed, pulled off his boots, set his phone on the nightstand and let him sleep it off.

Sam showered, warmed up in his sweats and lay on his own bed as a slurred voice called his name.

"S'mmy"

The room dark, but Sam could feel that Dean was probably watching him even while his head was stuffed into the pillow.

"Right here, Dean."

"H'muchwewin?"

"Five games of 8-ball, 500 bucks."

"Lilrusssy."

"A little rusty, sure, but 100 bucks a game. Pretty good haul for us."

"S'good."

"Yup, real good.'

"Nah. S'good. Me'nyou. S'mtimes miss hangin' w'lil brother."

"Dude, we hang out all the time." Sam knew what Dean meant, but couldn't resist teasing the impaired brain. "Almost 24/7."

"Nah like tha…hangin' fun'nstuff. No m'sters. No dyin'." Sam listened as Dean took a muffled breath. Then, "We die a lot. Tired of dyin', S'my."

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we do this more often...when things are quiet."

"Quiet. Ha. Yer funny, S'm. Things...n'ver quiet."

He was right, but at this point in their lives, that really wasn't an excuse. "Then we'll make time."

"Yeah? Ya do that fer me?"

"Yeah. I would. Just like everything else in our lives, we'll figure it out. Even if it's just a weekend here or there. Just you and me."

"Thas'good."

"Go to sleep, Dean. You're gonna feel like hell in the mornin'."

"S'a good kinda hell."

"If you say so."

"S'my?"

"Yah?"

"Sorry 'bout the medi...medateeetion...mediation? No. Yeah. Meditation crap. D'dnt mean ta tease 'bout it."

Sam huffed. "Yeah, you did. But that's all right. It got us here. A good day. A really good day."

"Fun day w'ma lil brother."

"It was fun. Maybe we should get season tickets for the games."

"Ha! Don' think football plays 'round world endin' stuff."

"Probably not, but the ride wasn't bad. We could definitely do it again."

"Sounds good, S'my. Gonna sleep now. 'Night."

"Yeah. 'Night, Dean."

They had a few more days before a call from Cas pulled them back home. A few suspicious attacks had been happening in New Mexico and they were hunters in the closest proximity.

"Back to work, Sammy. You road ready?" Dean said as he grabbed the knob on the door of the non-fluid-stained hotel room where they'd treated themselves.

Pulling on his second boot, Sam grabbed his carefully packed duffel. "Yup. And, in less than fifteen minutes, thank you very much."

"You folded your underwear in record time, dude."

"Man, you pay way too much attention to my packed underwear. You need a new hobby. I can teach you some meditation."

"Nope. Let's go."

As they strolled to the front desk to check out, Sam marveled at the place. Clean. Friendly. Free breakfast. Beds that weren't hard as nails. "We should stay here next time, Dean."

"Next time?"

"Right. You were drunk that night after the game and probably don't remember the conversation."

"I remember. Just surprised you're still for it. Thought you were just humoring me and my slurs."

"I was. And then I wasn't. We really should live a little between..."

"Dyin' a lot?"

"Yeah. That."

Dean checked them out, they loaded the trunk and were back on the road. West for New Mexico.

"Hey, you didn't do any of that meditation while we were here. Give it up already?"

"I meditated. You were just asleep. Or drunk. Take your pick and I took advantage."

"Sneaky. Well, I promise to not harass you at home when your door is closed."

"Sure. Right."

"What?"

"I know you, Dean."

"Yeah, you do. How about you hang a sign or something? '_Sitting on my ass and breathing. Come back later'_."

"Hilarious."

"I am. Let's blow this pop stand, little brother, and get back to reality of our lives. I'm itchin' to gut a few monsters, now that your underwear is packed neat and tidy."

"Dean."

"The truth hurts, Sammy. Even if it's about Winchester underwear. Now crank up the Zeppelin and let's do this! Next stop, New Mexico!"

* * *

END


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